


Pandora

by WorldsJunk



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Bittersweet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11940450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorldsJunk/pseuds/WorldsJunk
Summary: Some things, most things marked by love, are supposed to hurt. This is what he's learnt; endurance of pain is the purest measure of love.





	Pandora

Jongin is certain of few things, truly in his heart. Some things that are just true, because they are true to him.

Jongin has seen a lot of people dance, good at it, teachers, students, stars recognized for it, friends. Everyone moves differently, some people flow softly or sinuously or sensually. Jongin has watched a lot of people dance, different people dance for different reasons, different emotions, it can be the same movements but, Jongin cant articulate the thought without falling short but if you look at somebody dance and pay attention, you already know them. Yunho sunbae's control. Sehun's natural grace. Yixing's easy sensuality. Taemin's limbs cutting trough the air, living the next move before the audience's eyes can see it, always pushing further something seemingly effortless.

Minseok hyung doesn’t dances like any of them.

Minseok hyung is tiny and strong and you'd think he'd be clumsy or slow for it, less elegant a disadvantage of short limbs, but Minseok hyung is enticing. Agile and adorable, limber, in control of his own body and relishing working with it, using it, his joy almost seductive in it's honesty. Minseok hyung's entire being is on each movement, every expression, he is right there. His mind, his soul. He isn’t thinking about the next move, tiredness or the lights in his face.

He is _there_.

Especially on his line of work, and since he was a child, you'd be surprised to know Jongin hasn’t met that many people that love dancing for the sake of dancing itself and not as the means to an end.

Jongin never wants to stop looking. Wants to ask Minseok hyung to show him, show him again, same movements on such such different bodies, wants to know how it feels. The curve of his back as he rolls, the swell of his chest, flex of deltoids as his arm stretches, an exhale, deep breath, burning lungs, burning thighs and purity, a movement unmarred by intent.

He's tried before with other people, other dances, so Jongin knows he can't keep this. He cant safeguard the emotion of an instant, seconds he cant number, the gracefulness of a certain motion, a look, the feeling he feels; sweat running down his back, the ache of his every muscle a background buzz, comfortable in its domesticity, as he watches, hypnotized, Minseok's reflection in the mirror of the practice room, the same steps again, again, again.

 

 

Jongin knows Minseok values his limited privacy a lot so he feels uncomfortable, even more shy, despite Minseok agreeing to this with a curt nod, an indulgent little smile because Jongin _misses him,_ misses him so much during separate promotions and yet he doesn’t knows what to do when Minseok is around. Minseok is ready to bed and so is he, hesitating along the edges until Minseok beckons him closer, Jongin's body betraying him, shaking with tiredness and longing and excitement wanting to pass for coldness, he scoots closer, shy, shy, he doesn’t looks at Minseok, even when he huffs and pulls him closer against his chest, Jongin's face against his sleep shirt, soft and smelling clean. Minseok pets him softly and Jongin curls closer, as soon as he relaxes he falls asleep.

Jongin wakes up a few hours later, his arm pins and needles, face buried in the crook of Minseok's neck, warm and sluggish he stretches his arm, blinking at Minseok's face, beautiful and relaxed makes a tiny sound as the movement jostles him, deep, even breaths changing rhythm and Jongin impulsively presses a kiss against his cheek and curls tight again against his shoulder.

Minseok hums, sleepy hands patting Jongin who hopes he's still asleep, heart beating faster, Minseok's hands turn purposeful, body tilting towards his, thumb hooking under Jongin's jaw, their breaths mingle and Minseok opens his eyes, gives Jongin time to pull away. Jongin spreads his fingers on Minseok's waist, beckoning, before their mouths slot together delicately, once, twice, hesitantly and clumsy in the half light, the silence of the small hours of the morning, the limbo between wakefulness and sleep, ticking of seconds, impossible schedules and rest.

Minseok tilts away pulling Jongin along half on top of him, a sigh that could be a laugh before his body goes lax and he is asleep again, Jongin wonders if Minseok will remember, if he would want to, eyelashes fanning softly before he too falls asleep.

 

Minseok forgets.

Jongin doesn’t, but convinces himself and remembers it only as a dream; too foggy and too sweet.

Bad pain, good pain, growing pain. Its supposed to hurt. Some things, most things marked by love, are supposed to hurt. This is what he's learn; of stretches and plies and endless hours of practice and loneliness, heartbreak and sex. It all aches, it all hurts. Endurance of pain is the purest measure of love.

This is what Jongin knows.

 

 

 

At first Jongin doesn’t wants Minseok to come near him, thinking that if Minseok were to get sick because of him he'd feel terribly guilty afterward. But later when his fever picks up and he is tired and sore and weak and all he can do is feel like crap Minseok comes, and his soft voice and comforting touch lift away the feeling of how scary it is to be sick and alone. Jongin ends up latched into him, somehow, as if by some strange magic able to breath better with Minseok's fingers running through his sweat dirty hair.

“Promise me you wont slobber your germs all over me?” Minseok says, terrifyingly caring, voice so soft, like colds don’t spread like wildfire amongst them, like they aren’t gonna give Jongin shots and pills first thing so he can go on, like Baekhyun and Sehun aren’t also coughing a little.

Minseok says it like he isn’t here out of his own volition and Jongin can't help adoring him just a little bit more. 

He uses of his meager strength to rub snot all over Minseok's shoulder.

 

 

 

 

Minseok dances and Jongin looks. Keeps looking, wants to touch, sometimes does. Touch, touch, awkward and annoying. Wants to feel what Minseok feels. Smiles and laughs and teases.

Wants to give up on this, wants to give up something but doesn't.

 

 

 

 

Could be a month, or a year, a thousand ages of schedules and pictures and practice hours. Clap of hands and shutter shocks, ticks on the clock. Screams. Being locked in the practice room, the recording booth, aching.

Minseok stops, asks him if he is going to come to bed with him today. Jongin stops too, stunned, stares down at Minseok's slow blinking eyes, and his tired face; assaulted by the vivid memory of his mouth.

“Yes, hyung”

Jongin let himself be teased for this, because he wants this, its not rational, he needs.

Minseok rushes him, little hands encouraging him to move, change clothes, get in bed. Minseok side-eyes him but says nothing, opens the covers for him and tells him to turn off the lights. Jongin does, walks back to Minseok's bed in the dark and slides in. Jongin _loves_ being in bed.

All the wonders on the world are beds.

They get comfortable. Jongin tries. Tries. The minutes pass, and his eyes get accustomed to the darkness, odd shapes of Minseok's room.

“Aren't you too warm?”

“No, no, it's ok, I'm fine”

Jongin is fucking _uncomfortable_ , really how do people sleep normally with underwear on?? No. He can sleep anywhere! He can do this!

Come on, _sleep_.

Minseok sighs, exasperated like a parent, tells him that he knows he sleeps naked, that they all know, honestly, it's ok, Jongin, I don’t mind, we have too little time. Minseok tugs on his shirt, encouraging.

Ah, it's true. Jongin feels his entire life is a light-speed succession of rush hours and dead time.

Jongin drops his shirt on the floor, trying not to jostle the covers, hesitates. The upcoming reality of being naked on Minseok's bed a realization both strangely appealing an utterly alarming.

“It's fine” Minseok says, immediately, voice low, soft and firm and Jongin doesn’t even thinks about it, wiggles out of his underwear, clumsy. His body finally deciding it's sleep time, tiredness slamming down on him, he puts his back to Minseok and curls onto himself, cozy and loose-limbed.

Minseok is a cuddler, everyone knows, but he still asks him if it's ok, and Jongin nods. Minseok's hair tickles between his shoulder blades and his arm curls loosely around his waist and Jongin feels so safe he can't even categorize the feeling for a moment. Stares wide-eyed into the dark instead as Minseok sighs and relaxes.

There is an alarm going off on Jongin's head that doesn’t stop even when he passes out.

Jongin's heart is screaming about a thousand gestures Minseok has had, that mean nothing, nothing at all. They go on for years.

 

 

 

Most days Jongin doesn't cares. It's not worth it. He doesn’t cares where he is sitting while they commute. It's ok today though, he gets to fall asleep with his head on Minseok's shoulder and a leg over his. He gets to fall asleep slow, admiring the way the sun makes Minseok's eyelashes shine while he reads something on his phone and ignores him completely.

Jongin loves a kiss. He has kissed plenty of people. He has been in love with various people too. But those two have almost never overlapped.

Jongin pokes Minseok's stomach and carefully watches his mouth curl in displeasure.

Jongin knows, these things don't work. These things just don't.

Jongin knows.

 

 

 

 

Jongin looks at Minseok and hears Lizst's liebestraum. And sometimes thinks Minseok must know. How could he not?

Then again, maybe Minseok knows the same as he, how unfruitful this is, all of this is.

 

He falls in and out of love again and again, loves for a day and a month and a year. Loves an idea, loves himself, loves love, loves two or three people at the same time; feels too much for only one pair of eyes. Time goes by and he is corresponded, and isn't, he grows taller, and humbler.

Twirls on the stage, and sometimes gets to feel like the universe spins around him and dizziness can't ever catch him, like he could spin forever suspended, like a perfect everlasting grain of sand, a butterfly, a snowflake, an entire season's pass.

Feels like more star than dust, and yet this longing never stops.

 

It's late, and Minseok is drunk and hot and giggly and cuddly. Minseok laces his fingers with his and Jongin is silent, endeared. Minseok is cute, a touchy-feely, a bit of a lewd drunk, but never with him.

Minseok tells him all the way that he should go to bed, that he doesn't needs Jongin to accompany him to his hotel room, he is _not_ drunk and he doesn't needs him. Tells him he is a sleepy child that should go to bed. Jongin knows he won't let go of his hand. This time almost, almost wishes he could help himself.

 

Minseok pecks at the edge of his mouth and Jongin's lungs feel full of air, so full, like he could just pop. Evaporate like dew on grass under the first sun rays. His body finally unable to contain his soul anymore, emotions as big as he's felt them be.

Instinctively he reaches out, because it's scary, almost more than he can bear, how close to the truth this is, but Minseok's very solid sleeve is slipping between his fingers like sand on a fist. Jongin wouldn't know what to do if he caught this, if he held onto this moment.

Minseok looks at him, right in the eye; mischievous laughter and only honest, meaningless playfulness, before he closes the door.

“Goodnight”

  


There is a collection of careless cruelties that he carries, a treasure chest, a beloved ball and chain, a stuffed toy Jongin holds to his chest, that only he knows is there.

They weight on him like helium balloons would.

 

Jongin knows the truth isn't universal, so he loves his own, because it is his, and can't be repeated.

How beautiful and meaningful are the things he knows.

They don't need to be said.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this wouldn't exist without Dulce.
> 
> also idk what the hell happened here.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [dreaming my blues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644385) by [sexiudreams (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/sexiudreams)




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